


A God Cast In Mortal Flesh

by Reis_Asher



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Scene, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Intimacy, M/M, Memory Loss, No Sex, Nudity, Season/Series 02, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:40:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25220290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reis_Asher/pseuds/Reis_Asher
Summary: As he burns Hannibal's records, Will finds a detailed nude sketch of himself and asks Hannibal about it.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 3
Kudos: 129





	A God Cast In Mortal Flesh

**Author's Note:**

> This is an alternate scene at the point where they're together burning Hannibal's records. I don't remember the exact episode

Will tossed Hannibal's incriminating pages of records regarding him into the fire, watching the image of the broken clock turn to ashes along with Hannibal's beautiful script handwriting. He should have felt anger—and he knew that—but the only sensation left inside him was a dull ache. It twisted almost like longing, and he resented the cord that bound him to Hannibal. Will paged through volumes and volumes of notes on himself, novels written by Hannibal while he was puppeteering Will's story. Will eyed notes in the margins where Hannibal would comment on superfluous aesthetic details, like the glossiness of Will's eyes or the color of his lips.

Nobody had ever paid Will that level of attention before. He felt seen, like Hannibal knew him better than he knew himself, and he found that disquieting almost as much as he found it comforting. The connection he made through empathy with serial killers was supposed to be a tool he could use and control. It was not supposed to have become this two-way connection with which Hannibal might return pieces of himself along the wire to Will.

And yet it had. Hannibal was no simple psychopath. The world disgusted and offended him—was beneath him—and yet from his notes Will could tell that Hannibal thought him a rare and precious beauty, a diamond in the rough. That didn't make Will safe—perhaps just the opposite, given what Hannibal tended to do to precious things—but he found he liked Hannibal's attention all the same.

A large piece of paper torn out from a sketchbook floated down from Hannibal's hands above and Will caught it. It was a detailed sketch of him in pencil, lovingly worked on for hours, every detail of its subject accurate down to the most intimate parts. In the eyes of this artist, even Will had to admit he looked attractive, like a statue crafted by a talented sculptor.

Hannibal couldn't have seen him naked, and yet—

"When did you draw this?" Will asked.

Hannibal's mouth twitched, the corners of his mouth forming a wry smile for a fleeting second, and Will realized he'd wanted to be caught, to lay his sin bare and have Will know it. Up there on the balcony, Hannibal was controlling the flow of information. Anything he didn't want Will to see, he would bring down and burn himself. Amongst piles of secrets, this was the thing Hannibal had wanted on display. His regard for Will.

Hannibal paused leafing through a book. "When you lost time in my office, I had you undress and lay on the table so I could sketch you. Don't worry, I didn't touch you."

Will felt naked, like Hannibal had stripped the clothes off him with his words. Like Hannibal's hands were on his body, but he couldn't say it was an unpleasant feeling. He shivered, but the sensation was anticipation, not revulsion. Hannibal hadn't touched him physically, but he was always touching him, his vines wrapping around Will's soul and slowly corrupting it. 

He wondered what it might have been like to lay on the table, watching Hannibal watching him. He never would have voluntarily consented to it, and yet he felt an odd sense of pride that Hannibal had thought to use him in this way. Of all the ways he'd been twisted, broken, and manipulated, this method alone held beauty. It showed something redeeming about Hannibal, like perhaps Will had been able to send some part of himself through that connection and change Hannibal somehow.

The thought of betraying Hannibal suddenly seemed like a terrible thing, and his blood appeared to flow black in his veins, the poison ichor of an unholy beast. This god looked upon him with favor, and he repaid that with cruelty. Hannibal's most precious work of art was staging a rebellion beneath his nose, and Will felt a stab of guilt in his gut as sure as if someone had stabbed him with a knife.

"I don't want to burn this," Will said. "You clearly spent a lot of time on it."

"You are flattered by it." Not a question. A statement. 

Will only chuckled, his laugh the dry, cynical cry of a man finding victory in defeat. He shouldn't want to feel admired. Hannibal was a vicious god—and yet, he saw an image of himself in his mind palace, bathed in blood, triumph on Hannibal's face as they reveled in savagery together.

He _yearned_ , the emotion too big for his body, threatening to split him open and spill his guts all over the floor. He remembered his drawing of a clock, the numbers scattered all about the place. Hannibal had caused that. Hannibal had tried to break him, that he might remake Will in his own image. Hannibal was the god of death and agony. He'd taken everything Will had treasured and destroyed it, that he might have Will all to himself.

Yet Will wanted to fall to his knees in worship and confess his sins in kind. He'd be killed, once Hannibal knew he was a threat. Betrayal was rude, after all, and Hannibal had killed men for much lesser sins.

Instead, he placed the sketch on the table with delicate care. He would take it home with him when he left. Keep it in some hidden place, that he might look upon it someday when all this was over and wonder how he'd ever wanted such attention from Hannibal.

Or he'd yearn for it, twisted in full body aches as he saw himself through Hannibal's eyes and dared to dream what it might have been like to make love to a god cast in mortal flesh.


End file.
